The instructor said Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you- Then, it will be true. “Well,” I thought, For the endless nights, of the tedious classes, I sit and wonder who I am. I am questions and doubt, I am uncertainty and hope, I am self-indulgence and self-destruction. So I sit with all of this, knowing of my happiness when I seclude myself, but quiet hatred of being alone.
But though this takes up a large part of me, it is not who I am as a whole. My little things, insecurities and small pleasures alike speak for me. Film scores and writing, dozens of rings, dark jeans with the morbid words that I speak.
I am most happy with my perspective on life, as this says more than it all. As I see it, you must surround yourself with others who make you happy. The people in which you seek comfort should reflect the kindness which you bring to them.
This is why I worry; that the broken fragments which I have become will never fit properly again. Bits and pieces were lost in the destruction but I hope that “they” still see within my broken reflection my truths and disregard that “they,” “themselves,” look untainted and perfect to me.
So I sit here and allow you to become one with my overflowing thoughts.
I see the white walls, burgundy floor, and how plain it all seems to me. As I reveal my view, I realize how much this simplicity has shaped me.
I am sorrow and pain, (with hints of happiness in the dullness) doubt, self-hatred, impurity. I am total, I am absolute, I am silent vulnerability.
The instructor said
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you-
Then, it will be true.
“Well,” I thought,
For the endless nights,
of the tedious classes,
I sit and wonder who I am.
I am questions and doubt,
I am uncertainty and hope,
I am self-indulgence and self-destruction.
So I sit with all of this,
knowing of my happiness when I seclude myself,
but quiet hatred of being alone.
But though this takes up a large part of me,
it is not who I am as a whole.
My little things, insecurities
and small pleasures alike
speak for me.
Film scores and writing,
dozens of rings, dark jeans
with the morbid words that I speak.
I am most happy with my
perspective on life, as this
says more than it all.
As I see it, you must surround
yourself with others who make you happy.
The people in which you seek comfort
should reflect the kindness
which you bring to them.
This is why I worry;
that the broken fragments
which I have become
will never fit properly again.
Bits and pieces were lost
in the destruction
but I hope that “they” still see
within my broken reflection
my truths
and disregard that
“they,” “themselves,”
look untainted and perfect to me.
So I sit here and allow you to
become one with my overflowing thoughts.
I see the white walls,
burgundy floor,
and how plain it all seems to me.
As I reveal my view,
I realize how much this simplicity
has shaped me.
I am sorrow and pain,
(with hints of happiness in the dullness)
doubt, self-hatred, impurity.
I am total,
I am absolute,
I am silent vulnerability.